


Excerpts from the Life of Two Wizards and a Ghost

by laraF



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crazyfic, Fluff, Humor, London, M/M, Pranks, being a ghost, but not sugary, kind of, music references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 15:12:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9129910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laraF/pseuds/laraF
Summary: A ghost wanders into Harry's and Draco's flat and makes himself at home.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kironomi](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Kironomi).



> Dear kironomi! I took a little twist on your prompt (I couldn't help it, it was such a great, inspiring one!) but I hope you still gonna like it!  
> Merry Christmas and a very Happy New Year!  
> xoxo

Excerpts from the Life of Two Wizards and a Ghost

 

 

 

A lot of people thought that Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s life was filled to the brim with excitement, mysteries and adventure.

  
The famous writer would’ve laughed at those opinions because his life was absolutely _nothing_ compared to his death.

  
Because what can you do when you’re a wizened wizard-ghost who somehow got stuck in the plane of mortals and on top of everything couldn’t leave the always grey and brown London?

  
Mischief, for example.

  
And mischief our beloved hero _did_.

  
  
He was innocently flying above his favorite part of the city when a scanty piece of a very interesting conversation caught his attention.

  
A black haired and slightly tanned boy with vibrant green eyes was having a debate with a pale blonde one. Both were attractive in their own right. The silver-eyed one was staring at his boyfriend horrified.

  
“You cannot be serious!”

  
“Indeed. That was my godfather.” Poor Sir Arthur understood the words perfectly but in context… The meaning behind the sentences was definitely drastically different than what he was used to. He sneaked closer to the dark building the voices came from in utter silence, momentarily forgetting his invisible status and god-like power.

  
Meanwhile the black haired boy shrugged in apology.

  
“The Dursleys weren’t the most cultured sort of people. I’m surprised they could read. Well, actually I’m not even sure about Dudley on that front… Hmm. Whatever.’”

  
“Right now I’m pretending that the things you say about your relatives are not fucking frightening.” The blonde started to loosen his choker-style tie. After he got rid of his perfect white shirt he threw his dress trousers into a corner. “Merlin, I've always known you were an undereducated cretin...”

  
“Hey!”

  
“But to have zero knowledge about the most famous character of all time...!” The blonde buried his face in his hands. “Even I know who Sherlock Holmes is! Me! A _pureblood_!”

  
The black-haired boy snickered unapologetically while Sir Arthur straightened his back from the well-deserved pride.

  
“And I’m still extremely curious how you got your hands on those books as a pampered pureblood prince.”

  
The blonde one blushed furiously and mumbled something that suspiciously sounded like ‘I had no idea she was muggle and I already accepted the books from her’.

  
_Preconceived notions._ Sir Arthur has never been fond of them. And the black haired one should learn his lesson – he didn’t know the story (stories, hundreds upon hundreds) behind the legendary name of Sherlock Holmes. Outrage! Scandal! Impossible.

  
He had to pay for that.

  
  
It started out fairly innocently. Little pranks here and there like toothpaste on the door handle, poo-cushion on every chair and chili powder in the blonde’s make-up collection. Sir Arthur still felt a little irrational pride at the thought of that particular detail about the young man. Well, what should he say? When he was alive he was at least fifty years ahead of his generation and just idiots didn’t realize the budding romance between Sherlock and Dr Watson. Totally condemning a man for his vanity was like despising himself – in his eyes, of course and he wasn’t a stupid person to play martyr all his life.

  
With time he started to feel an almost uncontrollable urge to take it a little further every occasion he floated there – and he found a reason even if he decided earlier to visit a different part of the city. The dynamics of the duo fascinated him to a probably dangerous level. The blonde’s basic “I-get-everything-I-want-no-questions-asked” mindset seemed to be infuriating. So he tried to hinder him in finding his underpants when he was late in the morning (usually after a pleasant good morning from his boyfriend) or changing his after shave lotion into rice vinegar. Whining, rude comments and stuck up behavior made up the blonde’s weaponry and the most interesting thing was that it seemed to be working. The black-haired boy promptly smiled and melted from that maddening style.

  
When he realized the blonde’s obsession with his own image Sir Arthur decided to possess every mirror in the house and he talked back in the most obnoxious ways. Like not too long ago, when the boy was planning his marriage proposal in front of the bathroom mirror.

  
“Okay, Pot-head. You know that all I ever wanted was you… Ugh, this is horrible.”

  
“No, it’s beyond pathetic actually” Sir Arthur commented wryly and snorted when the blonde jumped back three feet.

  
“Who is it?” he squeaked.

  
“Your shitty conscience.”

  
“My shitty wha…?”

  
“You should take speaking lessons, boy.”

  
“Shut up, stupid mirror! You can’t distract me! Again. Khm. So, Potter. You refused to be my friend when we were eleven and that scar still…

  
“Holy Morgana, this sounds like a five year old crying because a bully took away his lunch box. Get your act together; he needs a man, not a toddler!”

  
“Merlin, how can I make this _thing_ stop?”

  
“I’m not a thing” Sir Arthur shouted and the mirror-y surface transformed into the picture of an ugly clown-face. He stuck out his tongue. The blonde yelped then raised his wand threateningly.

  
“Whatever you are, I’m not afraid” he declared with a trembling voice. Sir Arthur started to feel sorry and made words written in atrocious purple appear on the mirror.

  
‘Compose it with your first relevant moment together in mind. Idiot.’

  
“Wow. What a helpful jerk… Mmm.” The boy squinted distrustful but something clicked in his brain. ”Potter, I once offered you my hand – now I’m asking for yours. This is it!”

  
“Oh yes, amazing, Mr Blonde. All your excellence."

  
“But of course, stupid mirror.”

  
Sir Arthur enjoyed immensely the painful shout that followed his stinging hex aimed at the blonde’s ass.

  
  
The Potter boy though proved to be the exact opposite. He was so chill that once Sir Arthur even wanted to check his pulse if he was still alive (and the wardrobes – poor youngling ghosts had the tendency to end up at the strangest places after, well, _dying_. They really shouldn’t be blamed; just the administration always took a horrendous amount of time not even mentioning the practical instructions for being a ghost! He was thinking of publishing a guidebook. (Posthumous, naturally.) Anyway, that boy was like a ball of pure, innocent happiness with delightful colors of slyness and mischief and an adorable hero-complex. He never let his blonde do the housework and often gave him a thorough, whole-body rub after a tiring day of working at the Ministry. (Those rubs always ended in a very adult way and Sir Arthur never ever watched them in their entirety. Nope. Not at _all_.) He cooked and vehemently rejected to buy a house-elf after his ‘Kreacher’ died.

  
Sir Arthur had no idea who (or what) ‘Kreacher was but the black-haired Potter, _Harry_ , as he found out eventually seemed to be devastated when it came up.

  
He was an almost too kind bloke but Sir Arthur just couldn’t forgive him that he didn’t know a thing about Sherlock. _How was that even possible?_ So when he sat down in front of the telly (some infernal muggle machination) he periodically switched the channel to a Sherlock Holmes adaptation. Harry was the most stubborn creature he ever met – he outright refused to watch or read or even inform himself about anything related to the detective legend which gave a new elan with which Sir Arthur could continue his cold-war. In the end Harry almost successfully pulled out his hair which gave the next idea to Sir Arthur – he switched up Potter’s shampoo with the conditioner. It wasn’t enough to make him crazy but it certainly resulted in pricelessly confused expressions. He was simply adorable when puzzled.

  
Draco, the blonde showed that he cared in starkly different ways. He had a knack for giving ridiculously expensive gifts – a muggle car made of gold, a magically created island in the middle of the ocean far from everyone, twenty snow-white owls with a little owlery next to the manor they bought in Ireland for a… larger family. He was so posh sometimes it almost hurt. So Sir Arthur took it upon himself to get the git annoyed with the ‘finest things’ and moved into the pipes. Cold water in the shower meant Wagner bellowing from the shower head, hot resulted in Rossini; the kitchen resounded from Mendelssohn and Grieg and to top it all every flush of the toilet boomed from Stravinsky. To his dismay Draco actually loved the prank but soon got bored of the same melodies playing themselves over and over again so he entitled Harry with the lovely job of updating the ‘feral’ built-in-stereo. Sir Arthur immensely enjoyed his red face after providing wild background music for a week of ineffectual wand-waving – Beethoven.

  
He flaunted his money like it meant nothing to him. Sir Arthur took it upon himself to turn them all into chocolate pieces like he saw once in a muggle confectionary store. Hearing the battle-cry Draco gave after visiting one of his many Gringotts-vaults on the day of the trick worth the headless chaos afterwards.

  
  
They slowly but surely got used to Sir Arthur’s pranks and the respectable ghost got to like the two wizard with the years passing by. Although Harry Potter never before read the Sherlock Holmes stories the strange happenings and Draco’s incessant pestering convinced him to do it and the unique crime novels became their number one favorites. When they moved into their manor in Ireland with the two girls and two boys they adopted the peculiar occurrences stopped immediately. And rather mysteriously. They became the slightly annoying parts of their everyday routines by then though the snarky, all-knowing and incredibly narcissistic entity never revealed themselves. Harry insisted on keeping the flat but it had nothing to do with him missing his witty chess partner who taught him how to get at least close to beat Ron. Draco pretended to humor his beloved against his will but then he was seen by his own son snarking back and forth with his mirror in his old wardrobe.

  
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle became an honorary member of the Malfoy-Potter family.

  
He never left London and never introduced himself as Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

  
He did not _go on_ but he discovered that he could pay visits to the train station and so could converse often enough with two of the most intelligent and gifted magical persons the world had ever seen – Albus Dumbledore and Tom Marvolo Riddle, the only ones that could and were willing to come back for a chat. Their willingness in helping him out with new prank-ideas was a different matter altogether.

  
He got a book published under a secret penname with the title of _Gruesome Adventures in the Material World or Ghoulish Guidebook for Guileless Ghosts_ and since then weird ghost-clans were spotted all over the city of London, wanting to see the Big Ben and Diagon Alley and Platform 93/4.

  
The End

__  
  



End file.
